What you will find here

This is a place to examine plans filled with hope; plans which promise a refuge from chaos; plans which will shape our futures. Veterans with and without PTSD, Pentecostal Presbyterians, Adjudicated Youth, and Artists-Musicians-Writers: I write what I know. ~~~ Evelyn

Friday, June 20, 2014

Excerpt from Troughton Company Chapter Four

“Birmingham’s gone, sir.” Major Crumbley
never sugar-coated anything. Glynn admired that in her, but she’d never make colonel
if she didn’t learn to soften her blows.

“Last intel we had said mechmons and
city-eaters pretty much ignored Alabama.”

“Atlanta is still rife with cholera,
right?” Glynn was counting on taking 20 from Augusta through Atlanta and on to
Birmingham. The civies could travel the three hundred miles safely without
having to deal with the mountains.

“Yes, sir.”

“Crap almighty!” With Birmingham
burnt to the ground, he’d lost shelter for the winter. Two thousand civilians
plus six hundred soldiers, starving, freezing come winter. Glynn poured over
his maps for alternatives. “If we take 78 north to Athens and follow 129
northwest into Gainesville and then 53 west to 75, we could take 75 north
through Dalton and into Chattanooga. That’s what? Two hundred sixty miles?
Divided by twenty miles a day marching, plus two days’ rest for every three
marched.”

The major rolled her shoulders, “There’s
a Wal-Mart about ten miles out.I sent
Yarborough and his team to take anything not tied down.”

“Have him give the requisitions
officer – Dilts - a copy of the script,”
Colonel popped his neck and pulled out his maps. “Original –“

“I know the fruiting routine.
Original gets posted on the door.”

“Excuse me?” Glynn sat back and
stared at Crumbley. “Insolence will not be tolerated in the 74th,
Major.”

“My apologies, sir.” She saluted and
left.

“Colonel,” his valet Private
Matthews set a tray of stew in front of him. “The major had a brother and his
family who lived in Birmingham.”

Glynn glanced up in remorse. He
nodded and pushed the stew away. “I hear Rodrigues’ team just picked up five
orphans. Take the stew to them.”

“Begging your pardon, sir, but the
orphans are fine. Eat the damn stew.” Matthews picked up a load of laundry and
headed out of the tent. Glynn had the maps open, the stew forgotten.

“Eat it before it gets cold, ‘cause
God knows what it will taste like then.”

Glynn shook his head but picked up
the bowl. No spoons, he sipped the greasy broth and used his fingers to pick up
what few chunks of vegetables and meat there were.He tried not to think about the taste –
something between dishwater and barbeque, with some chunks soft and squishy
while others were so hard they like to break his teeth. But he ate it.

What he needed were self-sufficient
groups, instead of these dependent, helpless whiny civies. What he needed were
people like the Troughtons. “Shit, I forgot about Mickey.” Glynn shouted to his
corporal outside the tent. “Johnson! Find a way to get word to Sgt. Michelson.
Tell him to forget the rendezvous at Brimingham. Tell him,” he perused the map.
“Tell him we’ll meet up at Nashville and head toward St. Louis for the winter.And tell him we need the Troughtons. No holds
barred.”

“I’ll send Yolanski and Edwards in
the morning.”

‘No. Tonight. Mickey’s got one more
week with the Troughtons and rumor has it they’re traveling toward Montana.
So,” Glynn used a pencil and ruler on the map. “Tell Yolanski to head south
along 75 with due haste.”

“Yes, sir.

That night, as his stomach churned
on the greasy sorry-excuse-for–stew, his mind raced along map lines and
boundaries: mechmon territory, chewed up landscapes, bombed and burning cities,
and open terrain. Highways invited mechmons, but there was no way to transport
that many people through woods and mountain passes without losing too many to
death and injury. Highways were easier to travel, strenuous paths demanded more
calories to burn which meant more food and supplies like boots, socks and medicines.

Glynn rolled over on the thin cot
and grunted. He couldn’t sleep; hadn’t slept, had to sleep. He had to move his
people as far away from the east coast as possible before it was too late. He
sat up and bowed his head. “God, don’t let them nuke the world. OK? Just – help
us find a way without that. Amen.”

He lay back down and didn’t sleep.

“Hell, Mickey, if I’d known you’d go
domestic on us, I would have brought you an apron.” Yolanski’s words were
tempered by a huge grin. The three members of the 74th hugged each
other.

Edwards clung to him and whispered,
“I have some laundry you could wash.”

“Smartboard, ring the bell for an
all-call.” To the Seventy-fourthers, he explained, “Anyone not on duty will
come to the fire. We’ll hear what you have to say together.”

Andrews brought up two bowls of
gumbo and handed them to the soldiers. Edwards took hers with a gruff grunt;
Yolanski smiled gratefully at Andrews. Their fingers brushed under the bowl and
both men blushed.

The Troughtons assembled quickly.

“The floor is yours, Mr. Yolanski,”
Chrissy held out her hand.

“Colonel Glynn sends his regards and
asks that you rendezvous with the 74th at Nashville.”

“I thought the 74th was
going to winter at Birmingham. You can’t get to Birmingham from Nashville, can
you?” Sally asked.